


Visions of Eagles

by context_please



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed II, Assassin's Creed: Revelations, Ezio and Altaïr meet, Ezio runs around Florentine rooftops, Gen, Parkour, References to Brotherhood, Vieri de' Pazzi is an ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 23:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4282338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/context_please/pseuds/context_please
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio meets a strange man who speaks of strange things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions of Eagles

**Author's Note:**

> You'll want to have played Assassin's Creed I through Brotherhood to have any vague hope of understanding this. Oh, and you'll want to watch the Revelations cinematic trailer.  
> Ugh, so much effort. 
> 
> This is from 2012. I'm going so far back in my archives it's scary.

# 

Ezio Auditore da Firenze sat on the rooftop, surveying the midday streets of Florence beneath him. Crowds after crowds of people poured through the large, open street that marked the entrance to the Auditore Piazza; some holding crates, others leisurely strolling the sunlit paths. The bricks beneath their feet were worn, weathered by the use of so many people over so many decades.

The young man watched as people went about their daily lives. His dark brown hair was pulled into a loose leather thong, a few silky strands escaping their bonds and falling into his face. His features were strong and fine, dark brown eyes catching every single detail of the scene before him. His vest caught the midday sun, glinting silver against the black, his leather pants coming to a pair of brown knee-high boots. The only hard part of his appearance was the scar cutting down the right side of his lip in a straight line.

He had only recently acquired the scar, actually. It still amused Ezio as he thought of his fight with Vieri de Pazzi’s men, how he had beaten many of them, and even the man himself in the name of his family’s honour. It was humorous to think back over, but after that, Vieri had managed to place his ‘supporters’ all around the city, sometimes so many in one place that Ezio had to go a completely different direction to avoid them. One victory had cost him the freedom to walk in Florence. How much more of a _stronzo_ could Vieri get?

Ezio actually laughed aloud at the thought of there actually being a limit to that. _Stronzo doesn’t even begin to describe that bastardo,_ he mused to himself.

He was roused from his thoughts as he heard his name being called, the voice floating up from the Auditore Piazza. It was his father, Giovanni, looking for him, probably so he could deliver _more_ of those incessant letters! It was probably be to the Medici again, and he would have to traverse a fair amount of ground, all the while avoiding the _bastardo’s_ men.

Sighing in resignation, Ezio stood up on the rooftop that made up his family’s home. The buildings surrounded the Piazza – a gift that Lorenzo Medici had given Giovanni himself after his father had saved one of the Florentine bank branches from closing down. It was covered in lush green grass, with a couple of trees and paths threading through it, acting as almost the centre of the whole establishment. Walking to the edge of the roof, he jumped off of the edge, grabbing onto one of the window sills to soften his fall. From there he simply dropped the last couple of metres to the ground.

He wasn’t surprised to see his father waiting for him in the Piazza. It was shaded inside, the shadows accentuating the fine detail of his dark wine coloured clothing. His eyes were ringed with light shadows – evidence of the many years of stressful banking work – and his cheekbones highly prominent in his almost bony face. Sure enough, in his hands was a sealed letter. He had a grave expression on his face, his brown eyes even more haunted than usual.

‘Let me guess,’ Ezio said, waving his hand in exasperation. ‘Another letter to the Medici?’

His father sighed wearily. ‘Yes, and it has to be delivered to him at his bank immediately. How quickly can you get it there?’

‘Maybe ten minutes, as long as the _bastardo’s_ goons stay out of my way.’

Giovanni took a step closer. ‘Do not get into a fight with the Pazzi: they make for dangerous enemies; we cannot afford to aggravate the situation more. Just stay in the back streets, there shouldn’t be too many of them there.’ He held out the letter in question. ‘Will you deliver it, Ezio?’

The young man took the parchment from his hand, storing it in his vest. ‘I will be back shortly, father,’ he said, walking briskly through the gates out onto the street. He barely caught the concerned words that came from behind himself; ‘be careful, son,’ before he turned and vanished into a crowd of people.

 

 

 

 

Hardly anyone traversed the back streets of Firenze. They wound in confusing patterns, often meeting up with main streets, and never making a straight path to any destination.

Ezio barely noticed the occasional puddles of filth lying around. His thoughts were in turmoil, whirling about in his head like a hurricane. He knew something was going on; he had known for a while now: the constant letters, the activeness of the city’s soldiers, the urgency in which everything seemed to be done. Ezio could tell this was clearly not anything to do with banking, which led him to wonder for the millionth time: where did his father go at night? What business could possibly warrant leaving the house at that hour of the night?

The thoughts left his mind as he finally rounded a corner, peering upon the Medici Palazzo. It was sitting almost right in the middle of the street, and Ezio could see Vieri’s men passing by in all directions. He watched the _Palazzo_ from the shadows of the dark alley, his eyes never wavering from the groups passing by even as he plotted a way to get past them. His mind worked quickly, determining the patterns they patrolled in, looking for an opportunity to slip past them.

Ezio edged closer to the end of the alleyway, barely managing to keep to the shadows. Suddenly, he saw his chance, and he wasn’t going to miss it.

The young Auditore strode out onto the street, keeping his head low as he gently pushed people aside to get to the Palazzo. He thumped his fist on the heavy wooden door as soon as he got there, glancing behind himself to confirm that some of Vieri’s men were staring at him.

A clank sounded in front of him, and he turned to find a soldier standing in the doorway. ‘What is your business here, _Ragazzo_?’ he demanded gruffly.

Ezio pushed back his temper. He resented being called ‘boy’. ‘I have a letter for Lorenzo de Medici,’ he said, ‘I am to give it to him personally.’

The soldier regarded him with narrowed eyes for a moment, then he nodded, moving aside and shutting the door behind him. Ezio didn’t stop to marvel at the exquisitely lavish décor – he’d done that the first time he was here, and this time was the tenth – just followed the soldier to the head of the Medici family.

Lorenzo de Medici sat behind a desk in his library. One of the walls was covered in books, with a fireplace residing in the middle of the shelves, the other wall opposite absolutely covered in windows, allowing the midday sun to bathe the room with light.

Ezio approached the desk as Lorenzo looked up. His expression was grave, eyes regarding Ezio with concern. ‘Ah, Ezio Auditore, I would say it is good to see you…’ his voice trailed off as he waved his hand at the letter, ‘but I’m afraid that if an Auditore comes here personally, the situation cannot be pleasant.’

He nodded. ‘I am afraid so, Sir. It is a shame we can never meet under… _different_ circumstances,’ the words were genuine as he passed the letter to its recipient.

Lorenzo broke the seal immediately and started reading, waving his hand absently at the young man. ‘Please, be seated. I will not be long, and then you can take my reply to your father.’

Ezio inclined his head and got comfortable in the plush chair he was offered. _Great, now I have to deliver more letters. How am I supposed to stay hidden at this rate?_ He watched as Firenze’s de facto ruler hurriedly wrote out his reply, sealing it with the Medici stamp and standing up. He approached Ezio, handing the letter to him. ‘I am sorry to trouble you with this, Ezio.’

He shrugged and took the letter. ‘ _Non problema_ , _Magnifico_ ,’ he said, and the soldier escorted him out of the Medici _palazzo_.

 

 

 

 

On the journey home, Ezio made the mistake of passing through the _Piazza della Signoria_. Thinking deeply, he’d barely paid attention to the route his feet were taking, and before he knew it, he’d emerged form a nearby alley to behold the imposing presence of the _Palazzo della Signoria_ and the vast, open space slayed out from it.

In the mid-morning sun, the bricks of the _Palazzo_ were shining a light brown, the clock in the off-centre tower hard to read from this angle. In front of him, the _Piazza_ stretched out, covered in pale red flower petals trampled by the thousands of feet that passed through the _Piazza_ daily. In front of the _Palazzo_ public servants were working, constructing half-finished gallows, and all was normal. Ezio assumed the gallows were being constructed for that _cazzo_ Francesco de Pazzi.

He began to pass through the _Piazza_ when a shout interrupted him, and he turned to see six of the Pazzi gang running toward him.

‘ _Cazzo_!’ he cursed, and fled back into the alley.

Ezio could hear the heavy footsteps of unfit, spoiled _porci_ thundering behind him, and he shoved people out of the way so he could get to the wall, but as soon as he placed a hand on top of the window, a rock flew over his head, chipping the brickwork there. He dropped and turned, only to find himself backed into a corner, with six fat Pazzi goons closing in on him.

He wasn’t scared – an Auditore was never scared – but he wasn’t looking forward to being beaten up, either. He’d never gone up against six opponents on his own before. But he needed to try.

Ezio dropped himself into a fighting stance, raising his fists, and they laughed. _Lurido puttani!_ Just wait till he put a fist in their faces!

Ezio was preparing to swing, but as he did so, he suddenly became aware of a presence to his right side. It didn’t feel like the others; no, it felt weak; faint, almost… insubstantial; and although that should have scared him, Ezio was only encouraged by the _goodness_ the presence radiated.

He glanced to the side, so see a man, washed out and pale, with the street shining through his body, and glowing a faint white that matched the colours of his robes. Under the hood, his skin was dark and something about him twigged in Ezio’s mind; something he couldn’t put finger on.

All thoughts of such things were instantly pushed out of his mind when he heard the voice.

It was like the dry breeze of a summer’s day, but it rustled only his mind, and it felt warm, almost overly so, as if this person was from the deserts Ezio had only ever read about. It took all of his concentration to hear it fully.

‘Ezio Auditore,’ it said, and the figure was moving its mouth, too, ‘use the weight of your opponent against them; redirect their force.’

Just before the first goons struck, the figure stepped forward, brought his forearm up and ducked, kicking the man’s legs out from under him.

Ezio instantly copied the man, feeling the force exerted on his forearm and dropping down to sweep his leg out.

The figure was moving, predicting the attacks and countering them, and Ezio followed his lead, feigning to one side and smashing his head against the wall before moving onto the next, punching him in the stomach and brining the hanging head to his knee.

He followed the figure as he whirled backward, barrelling the next man into the wall and moving to let the next smash into him. They both went down cold.

Ezio pivoted, searching out the next enemy, but all he saw was the ugly backside of a goon as he fled. He looked to the figure, and the man gestured for him to follow, climbing up the wall with as much ease as Ezio, and it was a little disconcerting that he could see the wall right through his new companion.

He followed the figure across the rooftops until they were far enough away, and then he took the lead, taking the man to the edge of a canal and sitting at the edge of the roof. In the sky, the sun was a bright disc, reflecting off of the water in the canal, and the light caught the delicate filigree of the tiny gondolas below.

Ezio snuck a glance at the figure out of the corner of his eye. Still there.

‘Thank you, _amico_ ,’ he said, turning to look out at the horizon.

The figure hesitated before speaking in strangely accented Italian, like he was trying to think of the right words. ‘It was no trouble,’ he said.

He turned to the faintly glowing figure. ‘I’m Ezio,’ he said. ‘But you already knew that.’

A smile quirked his lips, eyes till hidden by the hood. But even as Ezio thought that, he reached up and pulled back the fabric, revealing a strong face, still young, and golden brown eyes that Ezio knew should have been glacial, but were warm with amusement. ‘I am Alta **ï** r,’ he said, ‘I wanted to meet you.’

‘Me? Why?’

The man raised an eyebrow at him. ‘The Apple offered to show me the future,’ he said, as if that was completely normal. ‘I wanted to meet the man who rebuilt the Brotherhood.’ He glanced around, then back at Ezio, as if suddenly realising the fact that he was only seventeen. ‘It seems I am a bit early.’

‘Brotherhood?’ he asked, then louder, ‘the _future?!_ ’

‘Do not worry,’ the man told him. ‘You will know soon enough.’

Ezio huffed and crossed his arms, staring out into the horizon again. ‘I still don’t know who you are,’ he pointed out grumpily.

The man leaned forward to catch his attention. ‘I am your…’ he struggled for a moment, then stuttered out, ‘ _amico_ ,’ and the pronunciation was twisted and wrong, but Ezio kind of liked that he tried.

He sent the man a smile, a real one.

Alta **ï** r seemed encouraged. ‘I just… I wanted to say…’

Ezio waited for the man to gather his Italian enough to actually phrase a full sentence.

‘Your life is changing,’ the man finally said. ‘And it will probably scare you, but I just wanted you to know that I can be here.’ He paused, turning to Ezio. ‘All you need to do is ask.’

Ezio’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Um, okay?’ he trailed off uncertainly. ‘Thanks, for everything.’

That got another warm smile from Alta **ï** r, and whilst it looked like something he didn’t do often, Ezio thought it definitely didn’t look out of place.

The two _amici_ sat on the edge of the roof, overlooking one of the many Florentine canals, sitting in silence.

Eventually, over a gradual period, Ezio felt Alta **ï** r disappear, going back to wherever he came from.

The news he’d heard… it was foreboding, and scary. He wasn’t looking forward to the future in that moment.

 

But he was a little less scared, knowing that he’d have some semblance of help if he asked for it.

 

 

 

And so, when Ezio saw the ghost of a man forty years later – when he was in the middle of another ferocious fight, taking a man’s pike and shoving it into his gut – he wasn’t overly surprised.

When the warrior with a heavy axe struck his wrist, slicing right through the hidden blade, he knew.

He knew he would be safe.

 

And that his journey was beginning again.


End file.
